The Choices We Make
by BadWolfRising
Summary: Oliver mailed the letter. Now what? Set at the end of "A Future and a Hope." (Photo Credit: Crown Media, LLC 2014)
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: _The characters belong to Martha Williamson and the Hallmark Channel. I own nothing. Lines in plain italics are quotes from Signed, Sealed, Delivered. _

_Choices_

Oliver turned the letter over in his hand thoughtfully, running his fingers lightly over the address. He couldn't seem to shake Shane's words from his head.

_I'm not afraid to mail this letter_. He had told Shane, unsure how to address the unspoken question in her eyes. Unwilling to reveal anything further to her, putting up his walls so she couldn't see into the dark storm of uncertainty within him.

_Then what are you scared of, Oliver_? She replied, seeing past those walls. As she always did in that direct but gentle way of hers.

He couldn't give her a response because he wasn't exactly sure _what_ it was he feared. If he sent this letter, it would change the course of his life forever. Was he ready for that? Was he ready for the waves and the ripples this letter would create on the calm and tranquil sea of his life.

_You begin by doing the thing that scares you the most. You face up to the scary and the rest is easy._

He chuckled to himself. That Ardis Pennington Payne. She really had a way with words ~ in her own unique and special way, a wordsmith. He couldn't forget the wave of gratitude that went through his heart when she looked at him seriously and acknowledged the value of the Postables' work.

_You change lives every day._

He ignored the pouring rain, listening to his heart. Trying to calm the racing thoughts in his mind. He was unaccustomed to feeling this way. Unaccustomed to feeling this shaken, this unsure. He always had the words to say when other people needed them. Why couldn't he find them for themselves.

_Help of the helpless, Lord, abide with me_.

His lips didn't move but his heart did. As it always did.

**Tell me what to do**_**, **_he asked, **because I don't know. And I am frightened**. **Lord, abide with me**_**.**_

He put his hand on the mailbox, opened the slot, and slowly slid the letter in. And, although he didn't feel the still small voice that so often spoke to him in times such as these, he felt a small peace amidst the tumult of emotion and thoughts that fill his mind and his heart.

_Face the scary, Oliver_.

_What are you afraid of?_

_I am not afraid to send this letter._

He turned and saw Shane standing, watching him. Seeing him in all his vulnerability, with all the doubts and fears that he felt painted in broad colors on his face. And he saw a marvelous truth in her eyes.

A truth he was not ready to face. Not yet.  
But maybe he was just misreading things... the night was dark and stormy after all and she was standing fairly far away.

He wasn't surprised she had followed him. Shane's sense of compassion for people she barely knew often overrode the norms of traditional boundaries. And since Oliver was such a private man, her curiosity, her desire to see things through, often clashed with his instinct to honor strongly drawn lines of demarcation.

He respected the rules – enshrined them in his heart.

Shane had a way of bending them, if not sometimes outright breaking them.

A fascinating woman, that Miss McInerney. And special... he quickly stopped that line of thought, unwilling to even look down that road.

He couldn't bring himself to break the solemnity of the moment – those moments of communion that he had shared with the night, with the rain, and with the plain mailbox near the hospital. And he couldn't bring himself to reflect on what he thought he had seen in Shane's eyes standing there and back at the hospital.

It was too much.

So he turned in her direction and walked past her, not saying a word, not acknowledging her witness of that intensely private moment.

And she said nothing as he walked away.

**Oliver O'Toole, **she thought to herself, **you brave, courageous, exasperating man.**

She had seen him silently slip out while Rita and Norman had been visiting Ardis. With her typical Shane curiosity, she hadn't been able to stop herself from following him.

**Oh Shane**, she scolded herself, _**c**_**an you, for one moment, stop being so, so...Shane. **

No, she could not. Her intense concern for her co-worker, her _friend_, was the impulse that pushed her to follow Oliver.

But she did not go further than the patio.

She could see the indecision and fear in his body language. The uncertainty in his face.

_I am not afraid._

**Oh yes, you are**, Shane thought to herself, **be brave, Oliver, my friend. Do what you need to do, what you have to do. You will never find peace if you do not.**

And then she saw him reach out, open the mailbox, and slide the letter inside.

And walk right past her.

Shane let him have his privacy, let him have time to gather his composure. He had not been ready to let her see that moment and, for a moment, she felt a bitter twinge of regret that she had intruded on that moment.

But she wanted him to know she cared, as a partner, and as a...friend.

Friends stood by one another.

Watching him, Shane so badly wanted to wipe the rain from his face which she was certain was mixed with tears.

But she didn't do it.

She stood back and let him have his moment of solitude. His time to say goodbye.

Because that's how it felt ~ as if Oliver was saying a final farewell.

**Oh, my friend, my partner_, _**she thought, **I hope that this marks the beginning of peace for you. You are so brave for facing your fear. Because I saw it in your eyes – you were afraid.**

I wish you trusted me enough to talk to me about why you are scared or even admit to me that you are. Just when I think I am getting to know you, you turn yourself away from me.

**Where do we all go from here?**


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: All characters herein are the sole property of Martha Williamson and the Hallmark Channel. I make no profit from this writing. This disclaimer applies to all subsequent chapters._

Author's note: Lines in plain italics are from the show itself.

_The Letter_

…._flashback from the bank vault_...

Oliver took his pen in his hand and began to write.

"Dear Holly,

_So much time has passed_ since we have talked to one another. The life that we – that I – had prayed for, had hoped for both of us seems now shrouded in the darkness of the past. And I have resisted writing you in the hopes that giving you time and space would give you a chance to ponder and to reflect all that we have meant and all that we mean to one another.

But, as the Good Book says, _**to everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; ... A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;...A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away...A time to keep silence, and a time to speak.1**_

There comes a time in life when one must speak, for the weight of truth can be a heavy burden to bear alone when it concerns two people. Holly, I must ask and I must know the truth, was what we had, the life we shared, merely a season in our lives? I made these vows to you believing that marriage was for eternity, to be sundered only by death. But if you do not feel the same way, I must know.

Call it an insatiable desire for knowledge, I suppose. But I need to know where we stand, where we are. I feel that we teeter on the edge of a precipice, where a strong breeze could blow us over. Am I under a misapprehension?

I realize that under normal circumstances a gentleman would not press a woman on this subject. But I have waited two years, Holly. Two years. And, surely, it would not be inappropriate to ascertain where we both are. Is this an end to our season? Are we to pluck up what we planted and toss it away, scattered on the winds of change?

It is time, Holly, that both of us sit down as mature and responsible adults and discuss these matters. No more waiting, no more hesitating.

Do you still want me as your husband?

Please do me the favor of responding to this missive upon receipt. Neither of us deserve an indefinite period of waiting and discerning – I think you would agree.

I await your response.

Yours,

Oliver."

He stopped writing and put the cap back on his pen. Carefully he folded the letter, avoiding Shane's eyes as he did so...

Abruptly, he shook himself from his thoughts. He had almost missed the door to the DLO.

He straightened himself, straightened his tie (which he knew looked abysmal but he hadn't the heart to take his usual meticulous care with his attire.)

He was shaken to his core. **Had he done the right thing by mailing that letter? Had he done an unconscionable thing as a gentleman by putting Holly on the spot? Was that the act of a true gentleman?**

Oliver could just hear Shane's plainspoken voice in his ear: **Don't be silly, Oliver. You're simply asking for closure. Not for **_**True Confessions from Paris**_**. **

He smiled wryly. **Ah, Miss McInerney, how blunt you are. But your intentions are good albeit horribly misguided at times. **

She truly was a remarkable young woman, so forthright. Oftentimes, it shook him to his core. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. At times it was darned aggravating ~ at other times, well, it was refreshing.

And she had a tremendous sense of compassion for people she didn't even know. He was uncomfortable with the many times she stretched – or broke – his beloved regulations. But he understood her desire to see a happy ending in people's lives.

Understood her desire to interfere – as irritating, vexing, and enfuriating as it had been for him on a personal level at times.

Like the time out at the cabin, in the mountains, when they had helped two estranged sisters not only find a place to lay their mother to rest but to _find one another_. 

Snippets of that conversation still burned in him like scars from a cattle brand.

_I'm just saying that sometimes you just have to get to a point where you stop hoping. You let nature take its course._

Oliver, she's not coming back.

_This bird has flown, my friend. _

He couldn't help but remember that heated conversation and how furious he had been. Lashing out in his hurt and his anger: _you may presume too much_.

And as he turned away, he had heard a soft: _maybe so_. And he had ignored the strong note of hurt and pain in her voice, being absorbed in his own agony.

He knew Shane had only checked on Holly because she cared. That fact didn't stop him from being outraged at the violation of his privacy but had, in the end, tempered his fury with her. And they had returned to the slow path to friendship. 

But sometimes, when he saw a look of sadness in her eyes when things didn't work out, he was sad for her. Sad that life couldn't always be what people wanted it to be.

Miss McInerney, not everything can be tied up neatly in a package with a bow.

And that sometimes you have to let go of the things you love most in the world to see if they will return to you, to see if they will be yours forever.

Or if they are merely parts of a passing season, fading in the light of the autumn sun. 

1Ecclesiastes 3:1-2, 4, 6, 7


	3. Chapter 3

_An Accident_

Oliver nervously straightened his tie and swallowed. _**Just pretend that nothing happened last night – that she didn't witness him mailing that letter. Just pretend that he hadn't taken a titanic step towards resolving his marriage – one way or another. Just pretend ~ he was good at that, wasn't he?**_

"Good morning, Rita, Norman." Oliver put his "game face" on as he entered the DLO.

"Morning, Oliver!" Rita greeted him cheerfully, her smile as radiant as the sun. Oliver gave her a small smile. He was deeply appreciative for Rita's presence at the DLO ~ her sunny personality, photographic memory, and large heart were such a treasure.

If only more people were like Rita, he thought to himself, the world would be a much happier place. A more content place. Even after having won the Miss Special Delivery 2014 title, she hadn't changed one bit.

And for that he was grateful. In a world of change, he could usually count on Rita to remain constant. Just like Norman.

"Morning, Oliver." Norman greeted him, looking up from his mysterious book of stamps.

"Where is Miss McInerney?" Oliver frowned, noting that Shane wasn't at her normal station and remembering that he hadn't passed her on the way inside.

"We don't know." Rita frowned slightly. "We haven't seen her this morning at all."

"It's not like her to be late." Oliver was perturbed.

"Maybe she just stepped in a puddle. Sometimes puddles can slow you down." Norman nodded wisely.

"That's...a possibility." Oliver acknowledged, a little reluctantly.

"And it's only 9:02." Rita pointed out. "It's not really _**that**_ late yet."

Oliver busied himself with his paperwork, trying – with little success – to ignore the steady ticking of the clock on the wall.

9:05

9:10

9:15

This really wasn't like Shane at all. And Oliver was starting to get concerned.

Oliver got up and started pacing restlessly. "Norman, Rita," he said, "what lost letters do we have today?"

Norman and Rita looked at each other. "Oliver, shouldn't we wait for Shane?" Rita started to ask.

"I think Shane...Miss McInerney...would prefer that we would go on with our daily tasks as normal. I am sure she will be here shortly. The traffic can be quite difficult at this time of day. And there's construction, delays. Many common place explanations for why she would be running late."

Rita looked uncertainly at Norman who shrugged. "You know those puddles." He said. "They can be treacherous. My cousin got stuck in a puddle once. It took him a couple hours to get out of it. They had to send a rescue boat for him."

Oliver raised an eyebrow and shook his head, imaging Shane saying: _**Really, Norman?**_

"That sounds like it was more than just a puddle, Norman." Rita said, with a small smile and giggle.

"Oh, yes, well there was flooding there that day." Norman nodded. "Maybe that's what happened to Shane."

"I am sure that Miss McInerney is not stuck in a puddle." Oliver reassured his two co-workers. "And even if she was, there are plenty of people that would offer her assistance. Let's focus on the tasks at hand, shall we?"

It was only with a concerted effort that Oliver turned himself away from watching the clock and tried to focus on the dead letters. He was so absorbed in his attempt to keep busy, he didn't see the worried glances exchanged by Rita and Norman.

His tie was askew. And he was fumbling with his letter opener.

Things were not okay at the DLO.

_Tick tock, tick tock._

10:15.

_**Where was Shane**__?_

**Oh bother**, Shane looked at her clock. She had hit the snooze button on her alarm clock too many times and overslept. The events of the past few days had taken their toll and she had been exhausted. So she had ignored her usual 6:30 wakeup call.

Now it was 8:30 in the morning, she hadn't showered and she hadn't even had a chance to have breakfast or coffee. **_I hate it when I'm running late..._**

She quickly pulled her hair up into a ponytail, got dressed, and grabbed her coat and keys. _**No time for coffee this morning**_, she groaned, _** this is not going to be a good day**__._

She walked out of her apartment and... promptly got rained on.

_**Sigh**_**. ****_There goes my makeup and whatever good hair day I had. This feels like a Monday._**

She put her purse over her head and raised her hand for a taxi. _**Oh, come on**__, _she pleaded internally, _**please don't make my day worse, universe. **_Finally, Shane saw one slowing down and stepped off the curb. _**Finally**_, she thought, _**now something is going my way.**_

Right at that moment, another cab skidded on the wet pavement. Caught in the middle of hydroplaning, the driver struggled to regain control of his car. Unfortunately, before he could straighten out, the side of the car slammed into that part of the curb where Shane was standing.

Shane froze, seeing the car come right at her, unable to move...

**11:00**

"I don't like this." Rita said, interrupting the uneasy silence in the DLO. "Shane would call if she was running _**this**_ late. Norman, did she mention anything to you about appointments of any kind?"

"Nope." Norman said. "I was busy with Ardis yesterday. I didn't see much of her."

"Oliver," Rita asked him anxiously, "did she mention anything to you?"

"Not a word." Oliver frowned. "Rita, do you happen to have her number? Could you try her, please?"

"Sure." Rita chirped and dialed her cell. She frowned as she hung up. "It just went to voice mail. I don't like this, Oliver. Something doesn't feel right."

Even Norman had a serious look on his face.

"I don't think she got stuck in a puddle."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: _No, I didn't kill Shane. Did you really think I would? ;-)_

_Waking Up_

Rita was worried. The only other time Shane had been this late was when she and Oliver had been trapped in a bank vault. Normally, her friend and co-worker was really punctual – almost as punctual as Oliver.

She looked over at him with a worried frown on her face. She could tell he was concerned but trying to mask it in front of her and Norman.

"Oliver," she asked softly, "should you try calling her?"

He looked at Rita, as if from a daze. "I will try contacting her but if you could not reach her, I very much doubt I will be able to do so."

"It's better than waiting and not doing anything at all." Rita pointed out sensibly. "Wouldn't you feel better knowing that you at least tried to do something?"

"Of course." Oliver struggled to smile at her. "While I am doing that, however, will you and Norman please take a look at some of these dead letters and see if anything is salvageable? I have faith in both of your abilities to find something we can work with."

"Of course – Norman, can you help me with these letters, please?" Rita prodded Norman to come join her in sorting through the basket.

Oliver reached for the phone on the wall and dialed Shane's number.

One ring.

Two rings.

_**Hi! You've reached the voicemail of Shane McInerney. I am not here at the moment but if you'll just leave a message, I'll be delighted to return your call as soon as possible. Thanks and have a fabulous day.**_

"Hello, Miss McInerney," Oliver cleared his throat, "this is Oliver O'Toole. I am calling because it is now past eleven o'clock and you are not at work. Please do give me – us – a call. We are concerned."

Gently, he put down the old-fashioned phone and turned to his co-workers. "She didn't answer." He said, rather obviously.

"I'm sure she's okay." Said Rita, always the optimist.

"But it's raining." Norman pointed out. "And there are puddles. And puddles can be dangerous."

Oliver looked out the window at the crystalline drops of rain splattered on the glass windowpane.

"Yes," he said softly, "those puddles can indeed be dangerous."

_**Beep, beep, beep**_.

_**What's that sound?**___Shane wondered. _**And why am I laying down? And why do I hurt all over?**_

Her eyelids felt so heavy ~ as if they were being forceably held down by something or someone. _**But why would someone hold down my eyelids?Oh Shane, you weirdo, they are not being held down. Wake up, wake up.**_

With great effort, she opened her eyes. Everything was so pale ~ nothing but varying shades of white, beige, cream, green and blah. That beeping noise seemed to be coming from everywhere – it echoed in her skull with the force of a tiny hammer.

She winced and tried to move, to her immediate regret. She turned her head and noticed that her arm seemed to be attached to a machine of some kind. The kind you only see in hospitals and doctors' offices.

_**Work! I'm going to be late for work! I need my phone...**_she tried to pull herself upright but the amount of pain was simply too great and she sank back on the pillows with a groan. _**Obviously, I'm in a hospital**_**,**Shane realized, _**but how did I get here and what's wrong with me**___?

Just at that moment, a nurse/doctor (Shane really wasn't sure which) entered the room.

"Oh, good, you're awake." The cheery woman smiled. "You've had quite an unfortunate time of it, haven't you, young lady?"

"Well, I don't really know," Shane admitted, "What happened to me? How did I get here? All I know right now is that my head really hurts."

"That's to be expected. You got a pretty hard knock on the head when you hit the pavement. What exactly do you remember?"

Shane frowned, struggling to remember. "I remember getting ready for work this morning and that I was running late..._**late, I'm late...**_I have to call work! They won't know why I'm not there. Where's my phone?" Once again, she tried to pull herself upright but winced in frustration and pain.

"Calm down," the woman told her, "it won't do you any good to get you excited. You had quite a bad accident."

"What's wrong with me? Who are you? Can you tell me what happened to me?" Shane was normally a fairly calm and collected person, thoughtful and not given to panic. But not knowing what had happened, what was wrong... _**I think I'm entitled to be a little bit panicky**_**,**Shane thought to herself.

"I am Dr. Greene ~ I'm the attending physician. You were hit by a taxi a few hours ago. It hit you in the side and you were knocked to the pavement. You have a concussion, a couple cracked ribs, sprained wrists and a dislocated shoulder. When you fell, you put out both your hands to stop yourself – that's what caused the sprains and the dislocation."

"No wonder I hurt all over." Shane groaned.

"Yes, you're going to be quite sore for quite sometime. I really would like to keep you here a couple days for observation. None of your injuries are life threatening but I'd like to keep an eye on you just to insure that there are no complications. Concussions can be tricky things."

"But my job..." Shane groaned.

"Your job can wait. You certainly will not be going back anytime soon." Dr. Greene said firmly. "Is there someone we can call?"

"Yes." Shane said quietly. "My co-workers need to know where I am. Is my cell phone still in my purse?"

Dr. Greene picked up her purse. "May I?" She asked Shane.

"Sure." Dr. Greene reached into the purse and handed Shane her cell phone._**Well, at least one thing is going right today.**_Shane was relieved to discover her phone was still functioning.

She scrolled through the numbers and handed the number to Dr. Greene. "Ask for Oliver O'Toole ~ he's the most senior of the four of us in our department. He'll make sure the appropriate parties are notified about my situation."

She didn't feel quite up to telling her co-workers how she came to be lying in a hospital bed ~ shocked, bruised, and sore, she just was too tired to make that phone call. Didn't want to talk about it. And really didn't want to talk to Oliver.

Dr. Greene looked at the number and dialed from the hospital phone in Shane's room.

"Oliver O'Toole?" Dr. Greene asked. "Oliver O'Toole, this is Doctor Greene at Denver Health. Your co-worker, Shane McInerney, has been in an accident..."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: _News_

It was not a good (or productive) day at the DLO. None of the three Postables could focus on the work at hand. Not even Oliver, the calm, collected and exasperatingly taciturn one. All of them in their own ways were extremely concerned about their colleague.

"It's no use!" Rita put down her letter in frustration. "I can't concentrate on work when I don't know where Shane is."

"Try focusing on something else." Suggested Norman. "How about otters? Did you know that sea otters hold hands when they sleep so they don't float away?"

"_Really_?" Rita asked, fascinated in spite of the worry eating away at her.

"Yep." Norman said. "I saw sea otters at the zoo once. They're quite furry."

Oliver chuckled, despite his own anxiety. Like the North Star, Norman could always be counted on to bring his own peculiar normalcy to extraordinary circumstances. _Always constant_, Oliver thought, _that's our Norman_.

And who cared if he was a just a little bit unorthodox? Being extraordinary was practically a perquisite for employment at the Dead Letter Office. How else would four such unusual postal workers such as themselves manage to get along so well?

"Thanks for the information on sea otters, Norman." Rita smiled, a little sadly. "But I'm afraid that's not helping me in focusing on my work."

Oliver broke into their concentration. "_I think we all could use a YooHoo_. Perhaps I can run over to the Mailbox Grille and get us some ~ along with some sustenance. We are quite past the lunch hour and starving ourselves won't help us find Miss McInerney."

Right as he said that, the harsh ring of the telephone interrupted the unnatural quiet of the Denver DLO.

All three scrambled for the phone, Rita and Norman colliding as they did so.

"I'm sorry." Rita said.

"No, I'm sorry." Norman bowed.

"This is Oliver O'Toole speaking." Oliver lifted the receiver to his ear, ignoring Rita and Norman listening intensely just a few feet away.

"Good afternoon, Doctor Greene…how may I…?"

Norman was oblivious but Rita didn't miss the way Oliver's hand tightened on the phone, his knuckles white.

"All-right…mmhmm…" Oliver said quietly, listening intently. "Is she…?"

Rita had never heard that tone in his voice before. He still was talking in his very Oliver-type way, proper, appropriate, and formal – but there was an underlying note of…_desperation_…of _fear_…that she could hear.

Her eyes clouded with concern.

She and Norman had known Oliver for a few years. And, in all the time she had known him, she had only heard that tone of voice once. _**Only**_ once.

When Holly had left him.

Rita bit her lip and looked over at Norman. His normally very friendly, smiling, handsome and open face (okay, so she might have a _**teeny**_crush on Mr. Dorman) was wearing a very unusual frown.

"Are you all-right, Norman?"

He startled, as if he had forgotten she was there, and frowned again.

"I think something bad happened to Shane."

"How do you know?" Rita asked.

"Lip-reading classes, remember?" He looked at her seriously. "I can't pick up much, Oliver keeps turning his back, but I clearly saw the words "hospital", "accident", and "taxi."

"Oh, no!" Rita looked at him in horror.

"Don't worry." Norman gave her a gentle and lopsided smile, trying, in his own awkward way, to reassure her. "I'm sure she just got wet in a puddle."

"Oh, Norman." Rita smiled, unable to refrain from tearing up a little. "You always know the right thing to say."

"I do?" He looked puzzled. "All I said was that she probably got wet from a puddle."

Oliver gently placed the receiver down and turned to his colleagues.

"That was Dr. Greene from Denver Health." He said, his voice raspy, as if from lack of use. "Miss McInerney was in an accident this morning on her way to work…"

"Is she ok?" Rita asked, alarmed.

"I was just getting to that, Rita." Oliver said, a little sharply. But Rita didn't feel badly ~ she could see that he was stressed and concerned, the brackets around his mouth tighter than normal.

And a tired look in his eyes. As if he had been punched and was still regaining the breath that had been knocked out of him.

"She was standing on the curb this morning, apparently waiting for a taxi. Because of the rain, a taxi hydroplaned and knocked into her. She was seriously hurt ~ the doctor said she has a severe concussion, cracked ribs, sprained wrists, and a dislocated shoulder. She'll be all-right, or so I have been told, but she's going to need a lot of rest and quiet. Suffice to say that she will not be at work for a while."

"What's a while?" Norman asked curiously.

"At least a week, possibly longer." Oliver told him. "They want to keep her in the hospital for observation so she will be there for a few days."

"Can we visit?" Rita asked.

"I think tomorrow we can go visit her. Today she needs rest and quiet. She's still in a good deal of pain." Oliver responded.

"And probably will be for a while, I'd imagine." Norman said quietly. "One of my aunts was in a car accident once. Hit her head on the steering wheel – she was seeing two or three of me for days."

"Yes, well." Oliver wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. "Head injuries are the most problematic in cases like these so they like to keep an eye on them." He played with his letter opener, a distant look in his eye.

Norman and Rita looked at one another with concern. It _**really**_ wasn't like Oliver to be this distracted, even if the news had been bad.

Rita quickly darted forward and took his letter opener from him and put it on the desk.

"It makes me a little nervous to see anyone playing with those things." She confessed. "They're sharp!"

_**And you are distracted**_was the unspoken addendum to that sentence.

Oliver pretended to ignore that hidden implication and quickly changed the subject.

"Well, now that we know that Miss McInerney will be safe in the care of the good staff at Denver Health, we can go and grab some sustenance. Will you join me?"

Rita and Norman were all too eager to oblige.


	6. Chapter 6

_A Hospital Visit_

My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet - You have ravish'd me away by a power I cannot resist: and yet I could resist till I saw you; and even since I have seen you I have endeavoured often "to reason against the reasons of my Love." I can do that no more - the pain would be too great - My Love is selfish - I cannot breathe without you. ~ _Letter from John Keats_

_Hospitals are very rarely quiet places. There may be lulls during the busy days where the chaos is dimmed to a muted roar but silence in a hospital is as rare as finding diamonds by the seashore ~ or a rose growing in the dead of still cold winter. _

_So when that silence strikes, it can be rather eerie for some. But not for Oliver O'Toole. He found solace in the quiet, in the stillness. The lights were dimmed and the only noise came from the muted voices of the nurses, doctors, and assorted hospital personnel at Denver Health. _

_It was early in the morning and the rosy tint of dawn was just peeking over the horizon. The rains had come and gone, leaving puddles of water reflecting the pale image of the fading moon. Oliver went over to the reception desk._

_"I am looking for Shane McInerney." He told the receptionist. "She was admitted yesterday, I'm her co-worker and friend. Car accident."_

_"You know that visiting hours don't start for another hour, correct?"_

_Oliver nodded. "I simply want to check and see how she's doing."_

_The receptionist studied his face, noting the lines of strain on his forehead and around his mouth. She also made a quick note of the circles under his eyes but refrained from comment. She had seen that look too often on the faces of relatives, friends, loved ones who had suffered severe shock. _

_"Let me see what I can do." She smiled sympathetically at him as she dialed a number on her phone._

_Oliver paced as the kindly receptionist spoke quickly and quietly into the phone. He spotted the gift shop and wandered over to it, looking at the floral bouquets exhibited in the window. There was one that reminded him of Shane. _

_Simple, modern, and beautiful. __Wait, when had he started thinking of Shane as beautiful? __Oliver shook his head – he must be tired, too much work, lack of sleep, stress over Holly. That must be it._

_Although he personally favoured a more classic style of arrangement, Oliver could not help but admire the arrangement of silk orchids and calla lilies. A little stark to his taste but so very Shane…er…Miss McInerney. But maybe too much white. He moved over to the next arrangement, which also had calla lilies but also had bright yellow sunflowers. An interesting and unusual arrangement ~ modern but not quite as stark as the white…_

_"Mr. O'Toole?" A soft voice interrupted him from his flower-gazing reverie._

_"Ah, yes, sorry." He acknowledged her presence apologetically._

_"It's quite all-right. I understand." She smiled sympathetically. "A nurse is on her way. She should be here in ten minutes. You can see her for a few minutes."_

_"I greatly appreciate that." Oliver thanked her cordially._

_"I know what it's like to be concerned about someone you love." She smiled and then turned away._

_"We're just co-workers." Oliver said quickly, wanting to correct any erroneous misconceptions._

_"You can still care about your co-workers." The receptionist laughed a little. "There's no law against that. In fact, I think that's rather sweet of you to check in on your co-workers that way."_

_"Er, well, Miss McInerney is very highly thought of by all of us in the Dead Letter Office." Oliver said, a little uncomfortably._

_The mysterious receptionist merely looked at him and smiled. "It must be a very special place, the Dead Letter Office."_

_"It is." Oliver told her. "There we still cherish and value the __power of the written word__. We live our lives by the expression that __everything that passes through the post office is important to somebody__. We take that charge very seriously."_

_"As well you should. I need to get back to my desk but the nurse should be here in a few moments."_

_Oliver thanked her and turned back to the floral display. He rather thought Miss McInerney would like it. __Hmmm__._

_He went into the shop._

_About five minutes later, he came out, arrangement in hand ~ with a card attached. _

_"Mr. O'Toole?" _

_"Yes?" _

_"I'm one of the hospital nurses." She introduced herself as Jeanine. "I understand you want to see one of our patients briefly?"_

_"Yes," he said, "a Miss Shane McInerney." He held the floral arrangement a bit awkwardly._

_"Follow me, please." She smiled at him kindly and they both walked to the elevators._

_"How is she doing?" Oliver inquired._

_"Better today but still in considerable pain. She's going to be sore for awhile." Jeanine looked at him. "Will your department need paperwork for HR purposes?"_

_"Yes." Oliver said. "But that can wait a bit longer."_

_The elevator stopped and they both got out on the third floor. "Right this way." Jeanine said._

_And stopped at room 318._

_Jeanine peered in. "It looks like she's asleep." She turned to Oliver apologetically. "I'm sorry you came all this way only to have her be sleeping. But she might be awake in a couple hours during regular visiting hours."_

_"May I leave this floral arrangement here?" Oliver asked. "I know she's asleep but would you mind giving me a few minutes?"_

_"I can give you five minutes." Jeanine replied. _

_"Thank you." Oliver stepped into the room and gently put the arrangement down on a table not too far from Shane's bed. He sat down in a chair by her bedside and folded his hands._

_She looked pale and her face was drawn in pain, even while asleep. Her forehead was bruised from where her head had hit the curb. Oliver winced as he saw the ugly dark blue and purple splotch near her hairline and near one of her eyes. And he felt himself getting angry at the person who had caused this to happen to his friend._

_**Friend? Where they friends?**_

_Oliver supposed they were. Somewhere along the road, he and Miss McInerney had become friends, albeit a bit reluctantly on his part. Even after that heated argument at the cabin waiting for the Doherty girls._

_ Oliver O'Toole was a very private man and thus he was close friends with very, very few people. And most of his close friends were gentlemen since his heart belonged to Holly and he hadn't felt it appropriate to cultivate close friendships with women that weren't his wife. But somehow Shane had not simply bypassed the walls he had built up but vaulted over them. _

_And Oliver was not quite sure why that was so. What made Miss McInerney so different than any other women? And he had a sneaking feeling that part of the answer to that question lay in what had happened months ago before the aborted dance recital. _

_The dance they had shared in the DLO. __**No, he was not going to think about that. Not going to remember. Because if he did, he would be force to acknowledge something that he would not admit to himself.**_

_He reached for a pen and quickly scribbled a message on the card attached to the floral arrangement. Then he closed his eyes and prayed for his colleague and his friend in the remaining few minutes of his impromptu visit._


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: _My sincere apologies for uploading the incorrect chapter earlier. THIS is the correct chapter seven. All medical diagnoses and/or treatments in this story are mine, so please forgive any mistakes, errors, and inaccuracies. I'm not a physician._

Chapter 7: _The Postables go visiting_

"I don't like hospitals." Norman said with a frown.

"Why not, Norman?" Rita asked with concern. "Because of what happened with your grandmom?"

"I wasn't even thinking of that." Norman admitted. "But, yes, that too. Hospitals have a funny smell."

"I can't smell anything." Rita said.

Norman's nose wrinkled. "They smell like mashed potatoes."

"Are you sure you're not smelling the _cafeteria_, Norman?" Oliver interjected, a little curious as to where this was going. Norman never failed to surprise him.

And he didn't disappoint this time either.

"Nope. Not the cafeteria." Norman said. "All hospitals. They all smell like rotten mashed potatoes. One time my foster parents had Thanksgiving and my cousin Serge was in charge of making mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving. He put too much milk in them. And the milk was rancid. The potatoes were not good. Hospitals smell like Serge's potatoes."

Rita giggled. She couldn't help it. Norman was just so…so… _Norman_. But he still made her swoon in a fashion worthy of Renita Hayweather herself.

It was just so aggravating that he didn't appear to see how much Rita really liked him. There were some moments back at the hospital, waiting to hear about Ardis, where she thought that he might actually have an inkling about how she felt. But then he'd say something and she would think, _Norman is still so clueless._

However, there was that moment at Ardis' bedside when Norman said he had felt pretty unsquashable. And then he had looked over at Rita with the kind of look that someone gets when they realize what's been in front of them the entire time. _What am I thinking_, Rita thought, _I must be delusional. There's no way he's figured it out. He's just so…so… Norman._

_Although_, she walked along with Oliver and Norman, deep in thought, _I think Ardis knows how I feel about Norman. And I think she approves! I do want her approval so much. _She snuck a peek over at Norman.

Oblivious. As usual. _Probably thinking about his stamps_, Rita smiled to herself. _Oh Norman._

"Third floor." Oliver said when they got over to the elevators.

"How do you know what floor Shane's on?" Rita asked curiously.

Oliver looked momentarily taken aback but quickly regained his composure. " I asked the receptionist."

"We didn't see you ask the receptionist." Rita asked a little suspiciously.

"I did before you two got here. I was here a few minutes early." Oliver fibbed smoothly, feeling a little guilty for deceiving his two colleagues.

"Oh okay." Rita accepted that explanation cheerfully.

A chime signaled that the elevator had arrived at its destination. They got off the elevator and walked over to room 318.

By this time, Shane had awoken and attempted to make herself look more presentable. Even moving around slightly took a lot of effort and she needed assistance to make her way over to the bathroom in her room.

_So this is what being a walking bruise feels like_, Shane thought. _Definitely unpleasant ~ I think I'll be a little bit quicker with my "dodge the oncoming car" reflexes next time. _She took a breath and winced sharply as her cracked ribs protested.

Looking in the mirror, she groaned at the shiner on her face and near her hairline.

_No amount of makeup is going to make me look good in a hospital gown_, she thought. _And no amount of heavy duty concealer is going to mask that bruise_.

_I look like I got into a boxing match and lost. _

All of a sudden she felt very tired and it took all the strength she had to make it back to her bed. She hobbled back to the bed and sank back on the pillows. It was so frustrating that simple things were taking her so long to do. And they were so painful!

And as she got in her bed, she noticed the floral bouquet on the table. It was simple, modern, and beautiful. _I wonder who delivered that. It's absolutely beautiful. Whoever picked this out really knows me._

A gentle knock sounded at her door and Jeanine poked her head in the door.

"Some co-workers are here to see you." She said. "Are you up to it?"

Shane smiled faintly. "I think so." She sat herself upright, making sure that she looked relatively presentable. _I wish simple things didn't require so much effort right now, _she groaned. _This is just embarrassing – I'm as weak as a kitten._

"Knock, knock." Her nurse entered the room, bearing some medication and food. "Are you in the mood to have visitors? Your co-workers are here to visit you."

"Sure."Shane smiled. "I think I can handle them for a few minutes. It's been a bit boring. And uncomfortable."

"I'm sure." Jeanine smiled, "I brought you some more pain medication and food. The pain meds will probably make you a little drowsy but it'll definitely give you some relief."

"_Yes, please_."Shane said, reaching for them. "You can send my colleagues in. I look as good as I'm going to look, I'm afraid."

Norman and Rita entered the room, with Oliver following closely behind them.

"Hi Shane!" Rita said. "How are you feeling?" She came over to Shane and gave her a very light hug. "We really miss you at the DLO."

Shane winced a little. Even the lightest hug still caused her some discomfort. But she greatly appreciated her friend's thoughtfulness.

"I miss you all too. But I am very sore." She said. "My body hurts all over. I feel like I've broken all the bones in my body but thankfully I only cracked a couple ribs. Makes breathing (and laughing) a bear so don't you dare tell me any jokes."

"Far be it from us to make Miss McInerney laugh." Oliver interjected. "We're simply here to see how you are feeling. We were all quite worried."

"Oh, yes." Rita added. "Oliver couldn't focus on the dead letters at all. I had to pick them out and open them."

"Is that so?" Shane asked curiously, her eyes intent on Oliver. Very few things caused him to get that disconcerted.

"Yes," Rita continued, oblivious to Oliver's embarrassment, "he even had…"

"I'm sure Miss McInerney is not interested in what I do or do not do." Oliver interrupted before the list of his failings due to distraction on the job grew infinitely long.

"Those are beautiful flowers." Rita said hastily, quickly changing the subject.

"Yes, they are." Shane said. "Could you bring me that card? I'd love to find out who sent them."

Rita brought over the card to Shane who smiled in thanks.

"Dear Miss McInerney," she read, "we at the DLO were all saddened to hear about your unfortunate accident. Your presence is sorely missed and we hope that you make a quick and speedy recovery. May your recuperation be a smooth one. Sincerely, Rita, Norman, and Oliver."

"Thank you all," Shane beamed, "

"Oh, that's so sweet of all of you!" Shane said in delight. "I love the flowers. Rita, they're simply beautiful. Thank you."

"You're welcome but..." Rita was about to point out that she hadn't picked out the flowers and, in fact, hadn't known about them at all.

"It is no problem, Miss McInerney. I did not want you to think your hard work and diligence did not go unappreciated or unnoticed." Oliver said smoothly before Rita could say anything. He gave Rita a slight shake of the head as if to say _please don't say anything_.

Rita looked over at Oliver quickly and noted a little pink blush on his cheeks.

_Interesting_, she thought.

"Oliver, did you write this?" Shane smiled.

"Yes, I did." He confessed.

"It was very thoughtful. Thank you for your kindness."

"Not a problem at all, Miss McInerney. You are a very valuable employee and I did not wish you to think your work had gone unnoticed or unappreciated."

"You could just say 'you're welcome, Oliver." Shane grinned.

"Indeed I could, Miss McInerney, but where would be the fun in that?" He smiled at her teasingly.

"Oliver O' Toole being fun? Who are you and what did you do with the real Oliver?" Shane smiled, despite her aches and pains.  
Teasing Oliver was so much fun.

Rita and Norman looked at each other. _This was interesting_.

"I didn't even know about the flowers!" Rita said.

"Neither did I." Norman whispered back. "Oliver must have picked them out."

"Wow. Those are really pretty." Rita said.

"Oliver has pretty good taste. He introduced us to YooHoos and those were pretty good. I'm not surprised he can pick out nice flowers."Norman pointed out.

_Yes, Norman, _Rita thought, _because picking out drinks and flowers are exactly the same thing_.

"Why doesn't he want Shane to know that he picked them out?" Rita asked, a little confused.

"I'm not sure." Norman frowned a little. "It certainly is a little perplexing."

"I haven't seen Oliver this relaxed in a while either." Rita whispered to Norman.

"He's _teasing_ her."Norman said in astonishment. "Oliver very rarely teases anybody."

He thought for a moment.

"I wonder if this means he's going to give her crabs too."

Rita looked at him and sighed in fond exasperation. _Oh Norman._


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Most words in bold italic are from the show.

Chapter Eight: _The things we feel_

_Hear my soul speak:__  
The very instant that I saw you, did  
My heart fly to your service. ~ William Shakespeare, __**The Tempest**_

Shane got bored quickly with the forced inactivity. For the first day, she appreciated it since she was in too much pain to really care about where she was or what she was doing (or not doing.) But after the second day, she got restless. After all, there was only so much she could do from the confines of her hospital bed. Reading, sleeping, eating, watching television, and doing a lot of thinking.

Thinking about the night Oliver had mailed that letter. _What had he written? Had he begged Holly to come home? _Or had he finally let her go, like a bird that had been caged too long and which was yearning for its freedom.

She remembered that painful conversation up at the cabin, when they had been helping bring two estranged sisters back together again. Her heart ached when she remembered the pain in his eyes, in his body language when she had told him, "_**Oliver, that bird has flown, my friend**__." _He had looked like someone had punched him in the stomach.

And she didn't miss the sheen of tears in his eyes. He had struggled valiantly to hold himself together but he hadn't been entirely successful. His world had just been rocked to its core and like a confused, angry child he had lashed out at the messenger instead of the one who had hurt him.

It had been clear to her at that time that Oliver still deeply loved his wife. Otherwise, he would have been totally indifferent to the fact that Holly had decided to stay in Paris. And Shane understood because, like Oliver, she also had loved deeply and unwisely. And the ending of that had been more painful than she cared to remember.

But over the following weeks, Shane had watched Oliver come to a forced acceptance that Holly wouldn't be coming back. She had watched him get rid of the Paris box only to gaze in its direction when he didn't think anyone was watching.

And she desperately wanted to comfort him.

Wanted to tell him that everything was going to be all-right – that all things had their seasons. That sometimes even good things had a limited shelf life.

And that night in the hospital when they had been waiting on Ardis and talking to the heart surgeon and his newly-found twin brother…she had seen the fear, doubt and confusion in his eyes. _**"What are you afraid of, Oliver?"**_She had asked, challenging him, making him confront his fears.

And she hadn't missed his look back at her after he had mailed that letter. There had been something else in his gaze that had shaken her. And she wasn't exactly sure what that something was. Or maybe she was too scared to admit to herself what that something was…

Because the last time she had seen that _something_ in his face, they had been rehearsing their dance for the showcase-that-never-was.

Shane didn't even want to acknowledge to herself what she had read in his face that day and the night he mailed that letter. Hope might be "the thing with feathers" but, in her experience, it usually always came crashing to earth.

She sighed.

Becky was right ~ as usual. She really needed to find her own Oliver – one that _was not married_, was emotionally available, and kind, and clever…

And, darn it, why couldn't it be _this_ Oliver?

How many men in the world were there that loved to read and recite Shakespeare, and speak words so lovely that they could fill their own volume of poetry?

How many men were there who loved to ballroom dance and talk and who still believed in good in the world?

Could there really be more men like Oliver out there?

She looked over at the flowers, their brilliance lit by the rays of the fading afternoon. _That was so sweet of them to do for me ~ they are so thoughtful. _Despite the blow to her head, Shane had still been alert enough to notice the confused look Rita had on her face when she read the card out loud.

_Almost as if she didn't know that they had gotten her flowers. _

But who would have gotten them if Rita hadn't?

Norman?

Shane chuckled a little. God bless Norman but sometimes he could be so oblivious. There were times when she wanted to shake him and tell him to _**wake up and smell the YooHoo**_like their old supervisor did. _Whenever will that man see that true love is literally staring him in the face?_

_Men. _Shane rolled her eyes, then winced. _Note to self_, she thought, _don't roll eyes until headache is gone_. She pursed her lips in thought. _If Rita didn't get them and Norman __**definitely**__ didn't get them, that leaves only one person._

Could it be that _Oliver_ picked out the flowers?

She walked over and looked at them thoughtfully.

Sweet, simple, and modern. The design was breathtaking in its simplicity and spoke to her.

And as she looked at them, she knew.

Knew whose idea it had been for the flowers.

Knew who had picked them out.

Knew who was giving her a message far more significant than the words on that card expressed.

A message he didn't feel comfortable speaking out loud.

A message of deep caring and friendship. She knew it couldn't be more than that; that he was too honorable to woo her while he was yet married.

But it touched her deep down in a place in her heart that had long been untouchable.

She went back to her bed, sat down, and took out a book, a piece of paper, and began to write.

_Dear Oliver…_


End file.
